The gathering storm
by Ophelia Lake
Summary: What happens when Sam gets sick and wants Dean.  Set during the Stanford years.  Plenty of hurt/comfort and angst thrown in.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 1

The rain beat down endlessly, relentlessly tapping against the windows in a soothing staccato before sliding down the clear panes, small droplets all migrating together. Separately each raindrop looked insignificant, but together they could become a flood. Jessica had always marveled at and respected the power of water.

She sat comfortably in the crook of the old couch, her knees drawn up to her chest; warm fuzzy socks, in all their bright gaudy glory adorning her feet. Jess sighed in contentment as she watched the storm replenish the earth. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine her mother was in the room with her. _My, but the earth was thirsty today, Jessie girl._ It certainly was Momma, she thought, and so am I.

Rising from her perch, Jessica stretched, reaching over her head to feel her muscles tense and release. Rolling her shoulders, then her neck, she walked noiselessly across the carpeted floor on her quest to the kitchen. Hot tea, she mused, would so complete the day right now. Jessica had been on a mission for comfort all day. She figured it had been a pretty successful endeavor so far, the only casualty being her Early American Lit paper. But, hey, she worked better under pressure anyway, and she still had roughly thirty seven hours until it was due.

Yep, still time for relaxation, some hot tea, pajamas, and quiet moments spent watching the storm. Damn near perfect. All she needed now was Sam. But her Type A perfectionist boyfriend was currently holed up in the library across campus, probably finding as much happiness researching and studying among the dusty tomes as she did in watching the rain. Well, she wasn't going out into the storm to bring him home, but she could call him.

Jessica sipped her tea as she listened to the ringing of the phone. On her end it was just normal ringing, but she knew on Sam's end everyone in the library was currently being treated to Heaven is a place on Earth by Belinda Carsile. She knew this because just last night Jessica had stolen Sam's phone and downloaded the awesome 80s hit to designate her specific ringtone, and then changed it from "vibrate" to high volume. Giggling softly, she imagined the blush creeping across Sam's cheeks as he fumbled out of his study- induced stupor to silence the phone.

"Hello," came the strained whisper over the line.

"Baby, when are you coming home? You've been there all day, I think even brilliant prospective lawyers deserve a break every now and again."

"Jess, I need to finish,"…_ahhh chooo _"this research for Monday's presentation."

"Sam, honey, I think you're getting sick, probably all that running around in the rain, followed by breathing library dust all day. Come home, we'll lie around, relax, we'll wallow, it'll be great. If you're a good boy and take your cough medicine I'll make you chocolate chip cookies…" Jessica idly twisted a strand of blond hair around her fingers while she waited.

Sam never could really deny her anything, especially when she promised food. The boy was always happy to eat her home cooking, - even when she burnt it. She loved watching his appreciation play over his features as he savored every bite; he always finished it too, never left a crumb. It made Jessica glad her momma had taught her and her sister basic cooking skills. The first thing Jessica had done when she and Sam moved in together was to go and buy several cookbooks. Baking had always been more her forte, but suddenly she wanted to _feed _Sam. Sometimes he reminded her of a lost little boy and she wanted to take care of him.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you in a few. I love you."

"Love you too, baby." Jessica heard one wet sniff into the phone before Sam disconnected the call. He didn't sound very good and for a moment worry over Sam's health overcame Jessica and made her breath hitch. He'd gotten sick last spring too. He'd blamed it on weather and seasonal changes, but Jessica knew the truth. He'd worked himself to the bone and gotten rundown. Sometimes Sam would forget to sleep, shower, or eat if he was really immersed in a project. Eventually he'd emerge, and like a starving man, he'd converge on Jessica and the kitchen, not necessarily in that order.

One time he'd slammed the book shut and then looked at Jessica as though he hadn't seen her in days, (which he really hadn't). He'd crossed the room in three giant strides and taken her to shower with him. After, they'd lain in bed and eaten cold Chinese takeout until they were satisfied. They'd spent the rest of the night sating each other in different ways. Sam had roguishly vowed never to research again, instead declaring Jessica to be his next concentrated study. Jessica had just laughed and affectionately tousled his soft dark hair; she knew she'd have his whole attention at least until the next project or paper. He always came back to her though no matter how involved he was in his studies.

Jessica didn't mind. She had a heavy course load too. Jessica was going to be a teacher, mold the next generation as her Dad said. She loved her brilliant Sam, admired his dedication and thoroughness, but often she wished he'd take better care of himself. That spring he'd gotten really sick and was stuck at home for almost two weeks recuperating. There had been a really scary 48 hours where he'd languished with a fever and Jessica hadn't known what to do. Eventually with the help of some of their other friends they'd managed to get Sam to the ER and one prescription later coupled with copious amounts of chicken noodle soup and rest, he'd recovered.

But Jessica still remembered what Sam had looked like sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, eyes fever bright and unfocused.

Once again uncurling from the couch, she walked into the kitchen intent on finding the ingredients for Sam's favorite cookies. Jessica flipped on the radio as she walked past, and began to hum along with the tune. Familiar with her kitchen and the activity, she began arranging the items together on the counter. Good, she had everything she needed. Twenty minutes later the glorious smell of baking chocolate scented the air.

The rain was unapologetically pouring. Even if Sam had walked, Jessica mused, he should be almost home. His long legs ate up distance and he was certainly fit enough to handle the brisk wet adventure, even if he was feeling under the weather.

Sam's athleticism and his intellect were another of those contradictions about her boyfriend that Jessica loved so much. Not to say that athletic people couldn't be smart as well, but she had just never seen an individual who was so extremely dedicated to maintaining both. Sam managed both areas of his life with an iron control that sometimes bordered on obsessive. He ran, every day, and did this almost military morning regime of pushups, chin ups, and sit-ups. He made it a point to stay in excellent shape and -when he remembered to eat- he always ate well; Sam understood the importance of well balanced diet. This was why Jessica could never understand how he would get so sick so easily, it was almost as if he refused to admit he was ill until the illness dragged him under.

He cared for and used his brain as well as he did his body. Sam volunteered for extra research projects with his favorite professors on top of his current rigorous required schedule. He always studied, sat in the front of the class, and contributed. Karrie, one of Jessica's best friends, had always teased Jessica about Sam being perfect. And he was, to Jessica, but she was not above realizing his faults either.

She just loved him faults and all.

He was stubborn, extremely stubborn. Once Sam had decided on something he could not be swayed, and sometimes Jessica thought he could be a teensy bit self-righteous. She considered it to be her obligation to say, "_You're being an ass Sam." _He would grumble but shut up, and later nuzzle that sweet spot on the back of her neck as he conceded her victory and intelligence in all things.

His biggest fault, in Jessica's opinion, was that he was secretive. And she didn't understand why? It had taken her months to find out anything about him. Even now the things she knew because he'd told her she could count on one hand.

His name was Sam Winchester.

He was born in Kansas.

He had a brother Dean.

He and his family had a falling out and they didn't talk.

Jessica knew Sam liked music, but grew oddly sad whenever Metallica or classic rock came on. She knew he loved food but especially enjoyed chocolate chip cookies. He had said thank you in his shy way the first time she'd made them. She knew he didn't trust easily but once he did he'd lay down his life for you, like the time she'd been distracted after class and had almost been hit by a car whose driver was texting while driving. Sam had barreled into her like a linebacker in the championship playoffs, and gotten her out of the way of the car. He'd twisted somehow in the air and, when he landed taken the brunt of it onto himself while she'd lain on top of him, still trying to comprehend what had happened. Before she knew it, he'd set her on her feet, efficiently and briskly checked her over for injuries, and then stalked over to the car, hauled the driver out and punched him. Then he'd walked her home.

Jessica liked to call that their first date. He'd walked her home, she'd invited him in, and finally the shy smart gorgeous guy she'd been lusting after in Classic Civ all semester became her Sam.

The timer rang, its shrill, incessant beeping colliding with the cheerful melody emanating from the radio. Jessica turned, grabbing the oven mitts her grandmother had made for her when she left for college. She pulled the cookies out, breathing in deeply. She could appreciate a good cookie same as Sam, and boy, these smelled delicious!

Suddenly, the small kitchen filled with the sound of thunder, followed closely by the sharp crack of lightning. The sound of the wind began to beat against the windows, and the storm grew in intensity. Jessica shivered as an unsettled feeling raced up her spine.

The rainy day was beginning to morph into a wet, cold, rainy night. The sky was sliding seamlessly from steely blue to gray to black, and as the temperature dropped, the rain continued to pour. Momentarily cold Jessica hugged herself. It wasn't as if Sam wasn't a big boy. He could take care of himself. The comfort of the day had suddenly turned ominous, almost as if the rapidly receding light made way for the encroaching shadows to take over. Jessica didn't like it; suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be in Sam's arms, his body heat chasing away the chill in her bones.

Where was Sam?

The next wave of rolling thunder pierced the apartment, its angry boom drowning out the radio and covering up the sound of a key in the lock. Jessica jumped, startled, when the door swung open to revel a dripping and shuddering Sam, bent over in a fit of coughing. His dark, wet hair hung plastered to his head and trails of freezing rainwater cascaded down his shaking form. Jessica rushed over to help him in and gasped when her fingers met fevered skin instead of the chilled exterior she'd been expecting.

"Sam, hon! You _are_ sick, you never should have gone out in the storm to the stupid library to study. Sheesh, have you even eaten today?"

"I'm fine, Jess," returned Sam. His dimples flared to life with his wide grin. "I think I just need a shower and maybe something to eat. I skipped lunch and then missed the bus. It wasn't raining all that hard when I left the library, but now I'm pretty soaked." Sam was so intent on reassuring Jessica that he brushed aside the deep rumbling burning in his chest, and the uncomfortable congestion in his sinuses. He did not have time to be sick right now.

"Uhh huh," said Jessica. "Well go get in the shower and I'll make you some soup."

Sniffing loudly as he valiantly tried to hold in a sneeze, Sam acquiesced and turned to trudge down the hallway.

Jessica waited until she heard the shower start up before she put some soup on the stove to heat. Sam might not want to admit it, but she could tell he was getting sick. Well, Jessica intended to nip this in the bud right now; they were not going to have a repeat of last spring with Sam developing pneumonia.

Chicken soup, rest, relaxation, Jessica had it all planned out. Now she just needed Sam to cooperate.

Sam stood under the spray. He had turned the dial as hot as he could stand, partly for the decongesting properties of the steam, but mainly because he was cold. Scratch that, he was freezing. It was as if he couldn't get warm no matter how hot the water and his whole body ached like he'd just run a marathon. His legs felt shaky, the muscles fatigued in a way he remembered being associated with long hikes in rough terrain with weapons and equipment strapped to his back, not a simple walk home from the library.

Truth was, he knew he was getting sick, but he could not afford to be ill right now. He was going to tough it out the way Winchesters were meant to. _Suck it up, be a man, get the job done, don't complain, soldiers don't quit._ It was his father's drill sergeant voice he heard in his head but it was Dean's steady hand he could feel ghosting across his forehead checking for fever, and his soothing voice he remembered from childhood illnesses. He'd take Tylenol, crawl into bed and sleep it off. Tomorrow he'd wake up and start studying again.

It was all going to be okay because he was a Winchester and Winchesters tunneled through life using only the strength in their own hands as shovels. It would be all right because he'd make it so.

The tenacity of his own convictions was strength enough to get Sam out of the shower and into the bedroom. He weaved and wobbled to the dresser as if it had been raining whisky instead of water. The room wavered in and out of his vision and the black spots he also saw did nothing to reassure him. Slipping on a pair of faded blue sweatpants, he made it to the edge of the bed. Gingerly Sam tugged back the covers and then crawled underneath them, his head burrowing into the pillow, gaining purchase against the soft fabric even as his eyes fluttered closed.

A/N II. Reviews are lovely! I would love to grow as a writer and appreciate all the feedback you can give me. Thanks for reading


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 2

Sam sank swiftly into sleep like a traveler long gone, coming out of the dark to find his way home again. Within moments he was drifting into dreams, no longer aware of the world around him.

_Sam looked around. He was in the apartment, in the bedroom. Next to him Jessica lay quietly, her mouth open slightly in peaceful slumber. The pit of Sam's stomach churned with foreboding as he looked around the darkened room. He tried to sit up but his body refused to follow his commands. The pungent and horrifyingly identifiable smell of sulfur wafted in on the stagnant air. Frantically now, Sam renewed his attempts to free himself from this strange overpowering passivity, but to no avail. _

_Brilliant orange flames began to creep up the walls of the bedroom, their red-hot tendrils licking at the curtains by the window. The smoke and sulfur invaded Sam's nose as he fought to drag precious air into his tortured and oxygen -starved lungs._

_He couldn't breathe…God he was so hot. He was burning up, the powerful all-encompassing heat emanating from the quickly expanding flames rolling over Sam in waves._

_Next to him, completely oblivious, Jessica slumbered on while white-hot tendrils of fire caressed her blond locks as they lay spread out on the pillow. Sam could smell the blackened crumbling pieces of her flesh as it continued to burn next to him._

_He needed Dean. Dean would know what to do. He'd pulled him from the fire once already, he could do it again. Giving into primal panic Sam began to bellow his brother's name. _

When Jessica had heated the soup, she walked down the hall to find Sam. She found him tucked under the covers deeply asleep. His chest rumbled ominously with congestion, deep, grating snores loudly filling the quiet room. Setting the soup on the edge of the dresser, Jessica crossed the short distance marveling how he'd managed to cram all 6 feet 4 inches of himself into a little ball of fevered agony among the rumpled blankets and sweat-dampened sheets. Laying a hand gently on his head, Jessica pressed a kiss to his brow. Sam didn't even flinch though he was usually such a light sleeper.

Jessica turned and left to shut the apartment down for the night. Locking doors, turning lights down, checking the oven to make sure it was truly off, it was all part of her bedtime routine. Reasonably satisfied their home was tucked in; she slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed. Sam's towel hadn't made it quite onto the hook on the back of the door and the water from it puddle on the floor.

The mess in the bathroom along with his uneaten dinner lent more enlightenment as to the state of Sam's general well being. He was usually very neat and conscientious about his surroundings. When they had moved in together she'd actually expected him to be messy, as most boys were, in Jessica's opinion. But Sam had brought two duffels and one small box in comparison to Jessica's small truck full of belongings. His dresser was organized, all of his books neatly put away. She supposed he'd gotten his clean as you go and there's a place for everything and everything in its place attitude from somewhere, but when she'd asked, he'd only laughed and said it was also McDonald's employee philosophy as well.

Another artful mislead- and- redirect by the counselor.

Jessica slipped into bed beside Sam, feeling the heat from his sleeping form. She hoped the Tylenol would kick in soon. Hopefully some medication and a full night's sleep would help Sam to feel better in the morning. Slipping an arm over his side, she curved herself around his back, and allowed the sound of Sam breathing to lull her to sleep.

Hours later Jessica awoke disoriented to the sound of Sam yelling beside her. He was thrashing around in bed and mumbling something she couldn't quite make out. As she leaned in to better hear him, his words grew louder and more desperate in tone.

"Dean! Help me, Dean…..Where are you….Dean!"

"Baby," soothed Jessica, reaching over to try and comfort him. "You're having a bad dream. Just wake up, baby." His forehead was even hotter than it had been earlier and his breathing had a sickening wet quality to it. She could see his chest shuddering and straining. Jessica tried to wake Sam again.

"Sam," she said sharper this time. "Wake up."

Suddenly pain exploded across her left eye and Jessica fell back across the bed stunned. Sam with his irrational flailing had just unintentionally smacked her across the face with his elbow. She'd never been hit before and unbidden tears rushed to prickle at her eyes. Giving Sam more space she backed off the bed. Standing now at a safe distance she tried once more to rouse him.

Outside, the wind rose to a howling fever pitch, and thunder boomed across the sky. Lighting filled the darkened room, illuminating Sam's face. His eyes were unfocused and wild, too bright with fever. But at least they were open. Panting slightly, he sat up in bed, continuing to call for Dean. Jessica felt her heart wrench into two when she saw twin tears roll down his flushed cheeks.

_Dean_, Jessica mused. _ The brother he never talked about or talked to? _ _Was he calling for his brother_?

"Sam, it's me, Jessica. Dean's not here. You're sick and you're having a bad dream! Baby, you just need to wake up."

Sam finally met her eyes although his gaze was fractured and unfocused.

"It's burning Jess, it's all burning, _we're burning_. We need to get out of here. Where's the salt Jess? I need to lay the salt lines. Call Dean, he'll know what to do. God! It's hot." Sam had moved during his speech and was lumbering unsteadily towards the kitchen. Jessica followed cautiously behind him.

Once at his destination Sam pulled down the salt container from the top cabinet. He turned in a slow circle in the middle of the floor, making a circle with the salt while he did it. Once his strange task was completed Sam turned and looked at Jessica.

"Stop burning, Jess, I can't save you if you won't stop burning. Your smoke, it's choking me!"

"Sam, honey you're scaring me. I'm not burning! There is no fire; you're just hot from the fever. That's why you're having trouble breathing; I can hear it from here. I promise there's no fire!"

"Don't worry Jess, Dean's coming. He'll be here, he'll fix everything."

Sam swayed like a tree in a hurricane, until he finally slid to the floor his back pressed against the refrigerator, long legs tucked up. His chin rested on his clammy chest but his eyes remained on Jessica.

"Get in the circle, Jessica, he's coming. He'll be here." Sam kept stubbornly repeating his mantra of "Dean's coming" over and over until Jessica thought she was going to go crazy listening to it.

She had cautiously stepped into the salt circle because he became less agitated when she did. Now she was waiting for Sam to fully finish passing out so she could call their friends, 911, maybe this Dean: somebody to help her and Sam. He wasn't breathing right and his fever was apparently unaffected by the Tylenol she'd given him earlier. She wasn't sure how high it was but she knew if it got too high, people could seize and have brain damage.

The problem was every time she tried to move out of the ridiculous salt circle Sam would shudder awake and force her to sit back down.

"Dean's coming," he repeated. "I'll protect you. Dean's coming. Stop burning, Jessica. Please!"

Deciding to try a different tactic, Jessica stood again. "I know Dean's on his way, but I want to get the phone so I can call him and see how much longer it is going to be. Don't you think that's a good idea, Sam, calling Dean?"

She watched Sam as he appeared to think it over. She could feel the muscles around her eye tighten with pain. She loved Sam, but this was a side of him she'd never seen before and it was scaring her. The only thing even remotely resembling violence she'd ever had to contend with had been watching it on TV or the movies.

"Okay," Sam, suddenly docile, agreed. "We'll leave the circle to get the phone but take the shaker with you because salt will repel whatever's out there." With those dark and confusing words the thunder once again grew in an agonizing crescendo. With Sam leading the way Jessica walked beside him to get his phone off the charger by the desk.

God she could only hope this Dean didn't let Sam down… But what could she expect from the kind of family member who could cut a brother out of his life because he wanted to go to college? Especially someone of Sam's intellectual caliber, how could he be expected not to further his education? Swallowing thickly she returned to the kitchen and sat obediently next to Sam inside the salt ring.

Jessica looked at the clock on the stove; it was 3 a.m. She hoped Dean was a night person because she was about to wake him up and present him with this terrifying problem. She bit her lips in uncertainty. She and Sam were expecting Dean to have a solution and she didn't even know really who he was other than Sam's deadbeat brother. Or where he was, for that matter. He was probably back in Kansas, hours and hours away from Palo Alto.

Next to her Sam slumped with exhaustion, his limbs heavy as lead. He wearily leaned his head on Jessica's slim shoulder and waited for Dean.

AN 2: Thank you for taking the time to read my next chapter, please review.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 3

Dean lay in the nondescript hotel room. He was in the area taking care of the monster in the forest outside Sacramento. Hunting took him all across the country on gigs but in the impartial confines of the Impala he'd admit that when Dad had called with the speculation something was causing hikers to go missing in Sacramento, California Dean had jumped to take the job simply because of the close geographical relationship to where Sam lived. He'd planned on after the job stopping by and covertly checking on Sam anyway. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it and he doubted it would be the last.

He was alone as was per usual these days, sent out on assignments by his dad like the ever- faithful soldier Sam had once accused him of being. His body ached all over, especially his right arm where he'd had to stitch himself up hours earlier. Thirteen neat stitches, small and tight, put in by his own steady hand. There was nothing quite like forcing the needle in and out of your own screaming skin to reaffirm just how alone in the world you truly were. Dean wasn't supposed to check in with his dad for another 24 hours, so if he had been seconds slower, and the claws had ripped his jugular instead of his arm, then he would have lain in his own blood, dying, alone. Unless you counted the monster, who would have been midnight-snacking on Dean's entrails but, as it was, he had been fast enough. And skilled enough to close his own bleeding, gaping wounds, after burning the evidence and the body in the woods.

He supposed he was nothing if not well trained.

He'd hiked back to the car, the field dressing on his throbbing arm soaked with his blood and the rain that continued to ceaselessly pour down from the starless night sky. Once he'd made it inside the room Dean had wanted nothing more than to find refuge in sleep, but he'd known he had to dress the wound better, or he'd die; just more slowly.

Dean stripped down to his boxers and lugged the heavy, well-stocked first aid kit to the bathroom sink. The sound of his solitary ministrations echoed painfully in the empty room. Flinching under the glare of the harsh fluorescent lights, he began to sterilize the needle and then thread the sutures through. When he finished, he gave the cut some Jim Beam and chased the burning and throbbing of the alcohol on his skin by pouring more down his throat. For medicinal purposes of course.

And yet he still couldn't sleep.

An hour or so later and Dean found himself still restlessly fighting slumber. He turned over and punched the pillow up, finding the cool side before he settled down. It was just too quiet. That was the problem. If Dean were to ever let himself stop the quiet would become a tidal wave pulling Dean under with the force of its rage. There was no typing of keys on a well-loved laptop, no good natured sibling squabbles, and no gruff orders in a whisky-soaked voice rolling like a warm river over time-sanded pebbles. Both his dad and his brother had left him alone, and Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He tried his hardest not to hear the quiet.

He hunted probably more than his dad did; if he was killing something he didn't have to think about the void. He hustled more pool than was safe, but if he was playing the game- or, better yet, cracking his knuckles against some idiot's flesh- then he could forget the nothingness that was his new home. He rarely slept alone either; if he was touching and tasting and giving and taking then for hours the quiet dark didn't feel so empty. Instead it was filled with breathy cries and clenching muscles. He always left before the moon did, preferring to hold to his upfront promise of no promises.

Tonight, what with the late hour and the extra time needed to fix his wound, Dean had just crawled into bed. Yet he was unable to find solace or rest.

The ringing of his phone blared indignantly into the space. Starting in surprise Dean reached over and looked at the cracked screen, 4 in the morning. This wasn't good. Even in his world, where monsters prowled after dark, middle-of-the night calls were never a good sign; especially when the members of his family were scattered across the country, alone and without Dean there for backup.

Palo Alto. Shit, it was Sam.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

"He-hello, is this Dean?"

Dread tightened Dean's stomach as his fingers unconsciously gripped the phone in response to hearing a voice decidedly not his little brother's.

"This is Dean, who is this? Where is Sam?"

"This is Jessica Moore, I'm…well, Sam and I are dating. We live together and ….shhhhh it's all right, Dean's on the phone." As she spoke away from the mouthpiece to someone else in the background Dean began to fear the worst. He could hear moaning and wheezing, horrible coughs that made his own chest ache just to listen to them. Suddenly she spoke Sam's name. Without even waiting for more information Dean stood up and starting getting dressed. He was packed and ready to go within minutes, just as John Winchester had taught both his boys. The motel room was once again devoid of any evidence he'd been there.

"Jessica."

"Yes," came her somewhat distracted reply.

"I'm about two hours away from you. I'm leaving right now."

"Oh thank God. I don't know what to _do_." Her voice ended on a sort of agitated squeak that lanced through Dean's head like a nail. "Sam already thinks you're on your way, you see, and he won't let me leave this ridiculous salt circle on the middle of our kitchen floor. He's agitated and sick, I think he's got a fever and his breathing sounds horrible. But he won't let me get close enough to check or give him Tylenol. I think he's delusional with fever, he keeps talking about us being on fire and the walls burning." At this she broke down and began sobbing. Dean could hear Sam in the background.

_Jess, what's wrong? Does the fire hurt? I'm sorry I couldn't save you, but Dean's coming. He'll save you, he'll put out the fire, I promise._

"It's okay, Sam. I'm just tired of sitting on the floor. Can we go back to bed now?" She must have tried to rise out of the salt circle because Dean heard a loud thump and a sharp intake of breath.

_Don't leave the salt, don't leave the salt. Don't leave the salt._

"Jessica what's going on?" Dean demanded, his beloved baby's tires squealing to find purchase on the wet asphalt as Dean pushed her to the limit peeling out of the parking lot.

"I'm okay. It's just …ummm… he really doesn't want me to leave the salt. As long as I don't agitate him, he goes back to sleeping, but the second I try and leave he wakes up and freaks out!"

"What happened? Did he just wake up out of the blue like this? There hasn't been any real fire, or anyone trying to break in, or anything like that right?" Dean prayed the supernatural had ignored his brother for once, and this was just a run-of-the-mill night terror like the ones Sam had had when he was little.

"No, I think I would know if the house was on fire, thank you very much! He's never done anything like this before! I'm really scared," Jessica admitted, her voice a hushed whisper, her fear coming through loud and clear over the line.

"Sometimes, growing up, Sam would get night terrors, nightmares he had trouble waking up from. He'd get up and talk and interact, but he was reacting to whatever crap dream he was stuck in. The best way to talk him down was to play along until he fell back asleep. He'd never really remember in the morning." Dean let the memories was over him as he sped down the two lane blacktop towards the highway- of coaxing Sammy back to bed, tucking him in, being the big brother.

"He's had nightmares before but nothing like this. He was really sick when we went to bed, but now he's breathing harder, and I think he has a fever. He always pushes himself until-"

"He's worn to the quick," Dean finished, as a smile played across his full lips at the accurate assessment of Sammy's character.

"Yeah," replied Jessica, "he does."

They let the silence linger a bit, only the sounds of their breathing coexisting on the line in between them. Dean continued to drive frantically, to reach Sam, yet somehow he was reassured by the tenuous connection with the woman, who like him, loved his younger brother.

"You obviously love your brother, and he loves you, or he wouldn't be screaming for you. Why don't you ever talk or visit?" Jessica's impulsive question hung in the air, and for an awful moment she thought he would simply refuse to answer, or turn around and not come after all.

"What has Sammy told you?" Dean's fingers squeezed the steering wheel, tension radiating behind his eyes, throbbing with the beat of his heart, pulsating behind his newly acquired injury.

"Not much," Jessica admitted. Dean could tell she was bothered now by Sammy's past secrecy, but Dean was reassured by Sam's at least sticking to the rules that much, quest for normal notwithstanding.

"Just… he wanted to go to school, no one else agreed, and now you guys don't talk."

Pain flared under Dean's skin as he listened to Jessica recount one of the most emotionally crippling events of his life. He gathered Sammy hadn't filled her in on any of the finer points. It was kind of poetically ironic when you thought about it. They had spent all of their lives pretending to be other people, from scams to hustles to investigators and hunters. Now Sam really was living another life because Joe College … That wasn't a Winchester.

Well … maybe Joe College if he carried a machete.

But even with all of the angry words, unreturned phone calls, and long years of forced separation it was Dean that Sammy still called for when he was down and out. _Samantha_ was sending him mixed signals; he either wanted Dean in his life or he didn't. That thought added to the bumps and bruises on his already aching and abraded heart. Dean couldn't decide if he was angrier or hurt over Sam's changing behavior.

"That about sums it up, call me if there are any changes otherwise I'll be there shortly." He knew his voice sounded sharp like flint sparking together, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. He suddenly wanted off the phone; he didn't want to talk to the glaring reminder that being a Winchester wasn't good enough for Sammy.

That being a brother to Dean wasn't _good _enough for Sammy.

Without bothering to wait for Jessica's reply he shut the phone and threw it on the seat next to him. The phone bounced and then settled in the space to his right, in Sammy's seat. The rain continued to pelt the windshield with angry torrents of water. Dean pressed the gas pedal farther towards the floor. Sammy might not want his older brother anymore but Dean would be there when he was needed, not even Stanford could change that ingrained drive.

Cranking the volume on the radio up, Dean let the Impala guide him to Sam.

AN 2: Thank you everyone who has taken the time to review. It means so very much to me!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 4

Dean turned onto Sam's street. The rain had finally slowed to an inconsistent drizzle and the sky changed back from black to steel blue gray. The wind had died down as well, and the air hung heavy with recently released humidity. The Impala rumbled to a stop, the faithful engine practically purring as Dean parked in front of the apartment building he knew to be Sammy's.

It was a decent enough apartment and in the soft burgeoning light it looked much as Dean remembered it from the thorough once-over he'd given it shortly after Sam and Jessica had moved in—unobtrusively of course.

Not knowing what to expect, he ran around to the trunk and began loading a variety of items into the duffle and his pockets. It was still fairly early; Dean hoped no passersby would amble by and see the impressive weapons cache in the Impala's trunk.

The sawed-off with bullets went into the bag along with rock salt, holy water, and the flame-thrower. Hell, since he didn't know what he was dealing with, Dean threw in the machete, and ammo including blessed and silver bullets. Next he slipped his favorite ivory-handled pistol into the back of his jeans and tucked his throwing knives into the leather straps along his arms before tugging the sleeves of his plaid shirt back down to conceal them. Last he jammed the EMF reader into his pocket.

Dean hoped Sammy was just sick, maybe disoriented from the nightmare Jessica had mentioned. But they were Winchesters, and as a rule their luck generally sucked. Better to err on the side of caution and go in loaded for bear. Not to mention if John Winchester ever caught one of his sons walking into a situation unprepared he'd kick his ass.

_Always be prepared, shoot to kill. Watch your brother, Dean…_

His eyes felt gritty and even the weak morning light was almost too much to tolerate. The lack of sleep was starting to affect him, and as Dean climbed the stairs to Sam's apartment he tried to remember the last time he had really slept. His arm burned with every step despite his deference to the wound in placing the weapons bag on the other side. The awkward weight of the bag blocked his dominate shooting hand, he didn't like to, but he could shoot with the other hand if he had to. Both boys were proficient with either hand but Dean preferred his right. He could feel the wound seeping again. Idly he wondered if he'd ripped a stitch or two in his haste to reach Palo Alto, to reach Sammy.

Moments later he found himself standing outside Sam's door. If something really was in there terrorizing his little brother and his girlfriend, then Dean would benefit from the element of surprise. With the ease of familiarity he took his lock picks out of the faded, worn pocket of his jeans. Nimble fingers quickly worked their magic and Dean found himself standing on the threshold of Sammy's new world. Swallowing thickly, he stepped inside.

He crossed the opening, his back to the wall, gun straight and steady with the safety off. All was quiet in the hallway and living room; he saw no signs of a struggle or a fire. The living room was clearly decorated with Jessica mostly in mind although when Dean looked more closely he could see little signs of Sam; the old hoodie tossed on the back of the chair, the beat-up backpack in the corner next to some sneakers that had seen better days.

The office screamed Sammy in the way the other rooms hadn't. Here his little brother's presence was dominant. The shelves were bursting with books, all different shapes and colors. There were various titles, some in hardback and some in better condition than others, but it was definitely a haven right off of Sam's cloud nine. The desk held a laptop computer and some pictures. Dean felt his throat constrict at the old picture on the edge of the shelf.

It was him and Sammy, arms held comfortably over one another's shoulders, big toothy grins as they sat on the hood of the Impala; Dean figured he was probably around 12 or 13. He hadn't even known Sammy had kept this picture. Regardless, the office was clear and he moved onto the next room.

He found them in the kitchen, slumped on the floor, leaning against each other for support. They were safely ensconced in the salt circle and were both sleeping heavily; Jessica, he surmised, out of sheer exhaustion but Sammy-… He looked awful and sounded even worse. Before disturbing them, Dean moved back through the entire apartment again, this time with the EMF reader but found no evidence of anything supernatural.

He set the duffle on the floor by the couch. Removing the more of his conspicuous weapons to the bag, he then walked back over to the kitchen. Sammy's girlfriend was hot, despite the telltale dark circles marring her delicate skin. Dean had seen her from a distance on his last pass through Stanford a few months ago; Sam had had his arm around her and they'd looked happy. Dean didn't want to scare her. He cleared his throat.

Her eyes slid open, widening as they landed on him, a stranger, standing in her kitchen. She startled and clutched Sam's arm. Sam, however, slept on.

"Relax sweetheart," Dean soothed. "I'm Sam's brother, I'm Dean." He watched the fear in her eyes disappear, if not the worry. She didn't ask how he got in, but he could see she didn't much like it. She shifted against Sam, turning to stroke the side of his flushed face.

"Sam, Dean's here," she said.

"Here, let me help you. I know how much dead weight a sick Sammy can be." Dean stepped over the salt, carefully leaving the line intact. He put a palm on Sammy's forehead, raising an eyebrow at the heat radiating off his brother's sweaty skin. "We need to cool him down as fast as possible."

Dean wound an arm under Sam's shoulders and twisted to get his other under Sam's legs. Sam was heavy, with more height and muscle than Dean remembered. Dean was at a disadvantage with his injury and Sammy was unconscious, by God if Sam needed to be carried, then Dean would do it. Gritting his teeth, Dean heaved Sam up off the floor, and supported him with his own body until he could shift his grip and get his brother into a fireman carry. Once he had Sam over his shoulder, Dean started down the hall. He heard, Jessica's quiet footsteps behind him.

He sat Sam on the closed toilet seat and starting removing his clothes. Jessica leaned around him to start the shower. She jumped slightly when he clamped a hand around her wrist.

"It's gotta be cold Jessie. We need to break this fever."

"Okay." Jessica nodded and turned to adjust the dial. Dean had been given the cold shower therapy for fevers a few times himself.

"This is gonna suck, are you ready?"

She nodded again. Dean hefted Sam up and in one smooth motion put him into the porcelain tub, into about two inches of water, with the cold water from the showerhead hitting him right into the chest.

Sam responded violently; he came awake with a shuddery yell, feet kicking, arms flailing. Sam immediately moved to get out of the bathtub, eyes bright and unfocused, and his movement awkward and uncoordinated. It was despairingly easy for Dean to keep Sammy in the cold water. Dean didn't like to see his brother this sick and weak.

"Lemme out, let go of me! Lemme out," shouted Sam. "What-"

"It's okay Sammy. I'm here. Jessie's here too"

"Dean!" Sam asked disbelievingly. "Are you really here?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sam. You had a really high fever and you need to stay in the water just a few minutes longer. Sam was shivering and his lips were turning blue. Jessica rubbed light circles on the corded muscles of his back while making soft soothing noises.

"Doing good Sammy, almost done." Dean kept his hands on both of Sam's shoulders holding him in place. Even in the cold water, Sam's eyes fluttered closed, and his head began to list to the side.

"Is he going to be all right?" Jessica's anxious voice reminded Dean that this wasn't a hotel bathroom but a bathroom in Sam's apartment; the one he shared with this woman standing next to him.

"Yeah, I think so. He usually is if you can get him through the fever part."

"You seem used to doing this … Did Sam get sick a lot as a kid?" Dean knew that once people got over being worried they became curious. It was inevitable and he was used to deflecting.

"He came down with stuff easy enough, I guess, never seemed to bother him until it would rear up and kick him in the ass." Dean turned away from her questioning eyes. This wasn't a getting-to-know you visit; this was about getting Sammy better.

Everyone was wet and cold by the time Dean deemed it safe enough to let the water-logged Sam out of the shower. Sammy's skin was mottled and his teeth were chattering together as he shivered in Dean's arms.

"Wake up Sammy. You can get out of the tub now. Let's get you warmed up." Dean shook his brother's shoulder gently as Sam woke up groggily. As Sam moved to get out of the tub, he shivered, nearly falling onto the floor before Dean caught his brother's quaking form.

"Dean," questioned Sam? "Where's Dad? Where are we? It's too cold here, Dean."

"I got you Sam, into bed," murmured Dean as he walked his brother down the hall, Jessica leading the way. The three of them stumbled into the bedroom, and Dean helped his not-so-little brother on the bed and under the covers. Jessica rubbed a hand over Sam's head.

"What can I do for him now?"

"Shared body heat works well," Dean answered scrounging up a brief tired version of his rakish grin.

Jessica smiled back as she curled up next to him on the blankets. Sam, already asleep, leaned into her touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment Dean felt a pang at seeing the evidence of his brother's happiness; then he shook it off. It was time to get some Tylenol and fluids into Sammy.

"I got this Jessica if you want to sleep too. I'm betting the floor wasn't too comfortable."

"Maybe," sighed Jessica. "Just for a little while."

Dean nodded once and turned to go get some water and medicine. When he returned, Jessica was asleep, her arm across Sam's chest. Sam's eyes were half open and he was muttering about salt.

"Dean, we need the salt, man! It's not safe here. The fire – the fire could come back, and I don't want to burn!"

The likelihood of Sam remembering the conversation was slim, but Dean crouched down to the bed. He gripped Sam's shoulder and said, "I will _never _let you burn, Sammy. Nothing bad is going to happen to you as long as I'm around."

"Okay, Dean."

Dean stood as Sammy settled back on the pillows, watching Dean from under heavy lids, as though he thought Dean might disappear if he closed his eyes completely. Dean looked down at his brother and ruffled his hair. "Go back to sleep Sammy. I've got your back. I'll let you know if you're needed." It seemed to be enough for Sam. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Jessica woke disoriented and slow. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and her limbs were heavy as iron. She rolled over to check on Sam and was startled to see Dean sleeping in a chair by the bed. He must have brought it in from the kitchen. He was slumped in it, his chin on his chest, arms dangling loosely at his sides. She glanced over at the clock. They had been asleep just over seven hours.

She tried not to let it creep her out that Dean's version of a bedside vigil had included watching her sleep. The nightstand held a mostly empty glass of water and a few saltine crackers. Sam was still sleeping, his head propped on several pillows and she was glad to hear his breathing sounded much easier.

Jessica looked back at Dean, the only proof she had that Sam hadn't just sprung into existence spontaneously. Now that Sam was better, she had so many questions to ask his brother- if he'd answer him.

They didn't look very alike. Jessica had noted they both had green eyes, but the shapes were completely different. Sam's eyes were slanted, while Dean's gaze was wide-open. Sam's hair was dark brown; Dean's was light brown with blonder ends. Sam was definitely taller but Dean was no slouch in the height department either.

Somehow, though she could tell they were brothers. Even if she hadn't been told she would have known. It was something in the way they carried themselves, how hard they could seem, and the distant shadows she could see in both their gazes. It had never made sense when it was just Sam, but now, having met Dean, she guessed it was a Winchester thing. They reminded her of her Uncle James; he was a marine and had seen action during the Gulf War.

She wondered how much older than Sam Dean was. He certainly seemed adept at taking care of Sam. More like a parent really than an older brother. And Sam… reacting that way, going on about salt and things in the dark! Jessica shuddered. It must have been one hell of a dream. Dean hadn't batted an eye though, he'd just given Sam more to drink and then tucked him in again.

When Sam had become restless, Dean had told him to stop… and he had.

"_Stand down Sam,"_ Dean had said, in a commanding voice. Sam had responded immediately, stopped his frantic movements, and had relaxed back down on the pillows. It was an odd and extremely interesting dynamic to observe. Maybe she was finally getting to see Sam without the secrecy that seemed to run in the family. She was getting to meet _Sammy, _someone she'd thought she'd never know.

Jessica shifted to get out of bed. Dean's tired eyes snapped open. She'd barely twitched a muscle.

"Hey," came his sleep roughened voice. "Get some rest?"

"Yes, I feel much better. Thanks for coming. Thanks for taking care of Sam," she said.

"It's my job."

His tone was serious and his eyes told her he meant it. The moment was broken as he rolled his stiff shoulders, stretching, hissing slightly as he raised his arms.

"The pay sucks, though." Dean smiled, and even exhausted and completely in love with Sam, Jessica took a minute to appreciate the wattage.

"How is he?" asked Jessica. She gestured in Sam's direction with her head. "Can you tell if Sam's any better?"

"Yeah, he's better," answered Dean. "I think the fever is breaking. He hasn't talked any funky stuff for a while now. He just needs rest and fluids, and I'm sure he'll be back to color-coding his library in no time."

"Thank God! I was really worried!"

Dean stood and walked over to the door. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You hungry, Jessie? I'm cooking."

Jessica realized she was starving and quickly climbed out of bed to follow Dean into the kitchen. Maybe she could ask some of those questions now, too.

A/N II: Thanks for reading! Reviews are love!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 5

The kitchen was clean. Dean, in the middle of taking care of Sam and battling his own exhaustion, had cleaned up the mess. He didn't comment and she didn't ask, preferring to save her questions for things she really wanted to know. Instead, she sat at the table and watched as he took a clean pan out of the rack and set on the stove. Methodically he went about the business of cooking breakfast. He looked completely at home in her kitchen, she noticed, as he began to prepare eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. He must have run to the grocery store, she knew they didn't have any bacon or those brown eggs. Dean set a cup of coffee in front her and when she looked up he winked at her.

"So, you like the smurfs huh, it was one of my favorite shows. That Smurfette was kinda hot."

She colored. "Ah yeah, I guess so," she mumbled blinking in confusion. Belatedly she looked down at the shirt she was wearing. A blush heated her cheeks further and she was grateful Dean had already turned away, back to the stove. She'd forgotten during all the drama that her pajama's consisted of her smurf shirt which didn't cover much and a pair of sleep shorts. Maybe they weren't the best thing to be wearing when meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time. Well, it didn't matter now. Besides, breakfast had to be almost ready. It smelled awesome. The sizzling of bacon filled the growing silence between them.

"How old are you," she blurted out."

"I'm 26 this past January."

"What day?"

Dean's capable hands shifted the pans around as he cooked. "January 24th, 1979."

Jessica smiled tentativly. "Mine's the 24th too, only in '83."

"Well, isn't that something?" said Dean. We should celebrate together next year. Do it up real big."

He was still facing away but Jessica noticed his shoulders seemed to tense.

"If we did a party, would you come?" She honestly wanted to know. Dean seemed nice, and he obviously loved Sam, but there was something not right between them. It was preventing them from really being brothers. Dean stared at her and for a moment she figured he would lie to her.

"No."

"But you came now."

"That's different, sweetheart. Sammy needed me, but he doesn't want me." Dean frowned. "I mean he wants this new life and he wants to do it himself. He was always like that. I can do it Dean, let me do it, I wanna do it myself." Dean laughed and Jessica could hear the sadness and love mingling together in his smoky voice.

"That's silly. You don't just stop being family." Jessica leaned over the table, elbows propped up, eyes eager now. She wanted to fix this; she wanted to help give Sam Dean; mostly she wanted to understand.

"Sometimes you do." Dean looked at Jessica, his somber gaze steady and unflinching.

What a terrible thing she thought, to love one another and yet refuse to cross some line in the sand.

As Dean started dishing up the plates, Jessica got up and walked the small distance separating them. How lonely, she thought again. Acting on impulse, she reached up and wrapped her arms around Dean. She hugged him like she'd hug her own brother.

"Thank you," she murmured into the soft fabric of Dean's flannel shirt.

Dean stood still. He didn't push her away but he didn't hug her back either.

Jessica persisted. "Thank you for helping and for loving him, even if he doesn't know it." For a moment, she wondered, if she hadn't gone too far. Then he relaxed and laid his head next to hers. Not long after, he gently stepped away.

"Foods getting cold," he said gruffly.

They ate quickly, and leaving the dishes in the sink for later, they went together to check on Sam. Sammy was sleeping sprawled on his back, one long leg sticking out from underneath the covers, hanging loosely off the edge of the bed. His mouth was open, and he snored rhythmically. He occasionally coughed, but the sound was much dryer than during the night and not as frequent. Jessica and Dean simultaneously checked his forehead, hands overlapping, to find Sam's skin dry and cool. The fever had broken. They both gave a sigh of relief.

"Well," said Dean, looking at his brother. "He should be fine from here, just needs to sleep it off and get plenty of fluids."

When Jessica looked up at him, he had already taken several steps towards the door. "You're leaving," she protested. "Why?"

"Already told ya Jessie. He wakes up and finds out I'm here he'll be pretty pissed. Sam likes his before and after clearly separated. You're after. Me? I'm stuck firmly in the before."

"But I don't understand!" Jessica moved over to where Dean stood and placed a hand on his arm.

"He asked for you. He yelled himself _hoarse_ screaming your name. The minute you came, he instantly relaxed. He obviously needs you! Please, just stay. Whatever happened _it_ can be in the before; not his family… never _you_."

Dean just looked at her. When he smiled it was different from earlier. This smile was quiet and small, but it reached his eyes. Jessica thought that this smile was maybe the real Dean Winchester. He began to list things she needed to know when caring for Sam when he's sick. Jessica was reminded of when she used to babysit and parents would leave instructions for taking care of their children.

"Make sure he sleeps, but don't let him sleep too long without giving him something to drink. I put Gatorade in the refrigerator; his favorite is the blue kind. Take it out of the fridge and let it sit a minute before giving it to him ,though, 'cause when he's sick he likes it more luke warm not ice cold. Oh, and, for when he's feeling better there's stuff for tomato soup and grilled cheese. It's … ah … what he had whenever we were sick as kids. After the puking part anyway."

"You're sure I can't convince you to stay?"

"Yeah … and don't tell him I was here either." He cut her off stopping her automatic refusal. "It's better that way, Jessie. Just trust me."

Feeling inexplicably like she was losing a small piece of herself, or maybe a piece of Sam, she reluctantly agreed.

"Oh, and when he gets cranky later, but isn't well enough to go out? Star Wars movie marathons always work really well."

"Okay," said Jessica, feeling the burn of tears tickle the back of her throat.

"Well, thanks for having me over." The look on his face said he knew how ridiculous that sounded, as if it had been just a family visit. "Bye Jessie, take care."

"Bye, Dean." It was all she could say.

Jessica watched him go. She listened to the soft tread of his boots until she heard the front door shut firmly with an audible click. She sat down on the bed and watched Sam as he continued to sleep next to her. Would he really be so upset to find out that his brother took care of him and loved him. She'd have to wait and see. She might tell Sam his brother had been here, despite her promise to Dean. She would do whatever seemed right but first she'd have to feel out Sam's reaction before she made any concrete decision.

When Sam woke a few hours later, he was groggy and his mouth felt like he'd been attempting to drink a desert. Jessica popped her head in from the door.

"Sam, you're awake. You must be thirsty baby, let me go and get you something."

Sam rolled over and tried to get his bearings. He had horrible dreams, dreams about fire. They'd left a bad feeling rolling around in his gut and for a moment Sam wished Dean was there to tell him dreams were just dreams and it was all going to be okay. But he stopped himself. It was being sick, he realized, that made Sam wish for Dean- made him wish for the one and only constant in his childhood. Sam knew if he waited long enough the need would bury itself down deep inside of him again.

Sam laughed and shook his head. Mixing Stanford and Dean! It was preposterous.

Stanford didn't have a ghoul-hunting department and Dean had never been one for school, or mixing in polite society for that matter. Besides, Sam suspected uncomfortably, if Sam saw Dean again, without the hurt and anger from his last fight with their father fueling him, he didn't know if he could cut the ties a second time. And as horrible as it sounded, he needed to leave those ties severed. He loved this new life, he loved Jessica; and he knew mixing the two just wasn't a sane idea. For an instant, Sam thought he smelled the telltale whiff of gun oil on the air, he swallowed. Huh…. Weird … smelled kind of like Dean.

Jessica came back in carrying a glass. Gratefully Sam took it and drank deeply. He was pleasantly surprised when the tepid blue sports drink hit his sore throat.

"How did you know this was my favorite?" Sam questioned, paranoid suspicion making his voice tense.

"You asked for it the last time you were awake. Don't you remember?" Jessica smiled at him but her gaze landed on him searchingly and Sam wondered what it was she was looking for. "Is there anything else you want, you haven't eaten in days, surely you're hungry."

Sam closed his eyes, feeling a wave of nostalgia creep up towards his consciousness.

"Yeah, tomato soup, maybe a grilled cheese sandwich. You know, if it's not too much trouble." He opened his eyes and looked at Jessica with the look she could never resist.

"Jessica smiled again and this time Sam could have sworn she looked like she was crying. He wasn't completely well yet, he must be imagining things.

"Just give me a second, I'll be right back."

Jessica walked to the kitchen to pull out the soup Dean had left. Dean really did know his brother. When she'd gone to get the Gatorade earlier, she'd discovered her own cell phone sitting on top of the container. Curiously she'd reached in and pulled it out. There was a new text. Opening it she read , _"Check your contacts list. Call me if you need anything, seriously Jessie, anything. _ After pressing the right buttons Jessica found Dean's number.

Those Winchester boys were a conundrum and Jessica planned on figuring them out someday; when the time was right. For right now, she was going to heat up the tomato soup and cook her baby some grilled cheese. She was going to concentrate on loving Sam; but maybe later she'd send Dean a text updating him on Sam's condition. Dean needed to know he was loved too.

A/N: Almost done, just an epilogue left. Please review! Thanks again for reading.


	6. Epilogue

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Epilogue:

Outside the cozy apartment, wearing the meat-suit of a Doctors-Without-Borders physician, the Yellow-Eyed Demon surveyed his prodigy. He'd felt Sam receive his first vision. The power that resided in Sam, the power that gave him the foresight, came from Azazel, was a piece of _Azazel._ So when the vision came screaming into little Sammy's fevered brain, the demon had felt it too. He'd hopped into the first do-gooder he saw and came right on over to see for himself.

Oh, yes. Sam was progressing nicely. He'd separated himself from his family and he'd let his anger fester. Anger was good; it served a purpose in the Yellow-Eyed demon's world. It would help to prepare Sam.

He hadn't been any too pleased when he'd seen the Impala came rolling up, but it didn't matter. Before long Dean-o was leaving and the feelings coming off of him … the sadness, the self-sacrificing pain … well, it was positively delicious.

He let the cacophony of his meat-suit's soul screaming out in torment soothe him. He had plans and they were just starting to reach fruition.

A/N: Well this is it. Thanks again for reading; each and every review has meant so much to me. I welcome the critique and I look forward to continuing to grow as a writer. That can't happen without reviews so again I say thank you. 


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